


i gave you my love

by hazy_daisy



Series: spies babey [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spy Angst TM, developing feelings, discussions of trust, does that tag count here? honestly idk but he's been through enough he deserves it, no editing we die like renfri, no graphic content but discussion of removing bullets from bullet wounds, realizing whoops you accidentally developed feelings for your irresponsible spy partner, secret agent AU, sequel work but can theoretically be read standalone, spy AU, very general description of mediocre medical practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazy_daisy/pseuds/hazy_daisy
Summary: And the job went tits-up. Of course it did. How else were they supposed to ruin their very good track record of two months without Rivia abandoning the plan?The job went horribly wrong, as it was wont to do, but the problem was with Rivia—shot several times and probably bleeding out in the passenger seat of the car.Fuck. Jaskier hated having to drive on missions.(or: jaskier realizes that maybe hooking up with rivia on the side wasn't the best choice in their line of work, especially with his propensity to develop feelings for anyone and everyone. stressing out because the object of his affection's been shot is both awful and a very effective way to get him to this conclusion.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: spies babey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905076
Comments: 45
Kudos: 105





	1. if it was you

**Author's Note:**

> remember when i said i was going to write a second part to that other fic? three months ago?
> 
> work title from the mcr album title "you gave me your bullets, i gave you my love" because school started up again today and the only thing i could think of when i was trying to brainstorm a title was the inclusion of bullets in this plot.
> 
> the last fic in this series (not necessary for reading this one, i think, you could probably pick up what happened with some context clues) was written after i watched chuck; this one (the first part, at least) was written after watching inception. it shows haha

“I’m serious. Keep going like this and you’re gonna catch a case of terminal gun disease.”

“And what does that mean?” 

“It means you’re going to get fucking shot, Rivia.”

Rivia laughed, low and rather cavalier, which ( _was hot, god damn it, here was Jaskier trying to do his job and all Rivia could do was be annoying and so fucking kissable_ ) didn’t do anything but encourage the nasty glare that Jaskier threw his way. “It’s fine, Jaskier. You have to take some risks when you do what we do.”

* * *

_I want you to be able to trust me_ , Rivia had said, and Jaskier hadn’t been able to get it out of his head. It had struck him, in the car, but once he was done running off of adrenalin (from almost getting shot and then kissing Rivia to avoid getting shot and then just kissing Rivia on its own) it had hit him even harder. Fuck. That was such a raw thing, to just _say_ to somebody, especially when their job mainly revolved around not trusting people in the first place.

It was a business thing, he told himself. Trust would make for a better partnership, which would be great, because as pretty as Jaskier thought Rivia was, he wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. And given Rivia’s bulk, that was not very far.

Still, though, it was something that he turned over and over in his head. 

* * *

Jaskier had given Rivia his name. His nickname, anyway—preferable by far to Julian in real life and preferable to his code name Dandelion at work (which, in turn, had been preferable to ‘Agent Pankratz’). He knew that, but it was still jarring to hear him actually address him as Jaskier. Not at work, or course, where knowing someone’s name (getting attached) was frowned upon. But in the little moments in between jobs, Rivia would actually say his name, and Jaskier would be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief to be addressed in such a familiar way for the first time in years.

Being a spy was great because it meant that you got to drop your identity. It was Jaskier’s career of choice only because joining the circus or becoming a bard weren’t exactly viable options. It meant that he got to drop his parents (fuck them), work for well-connected people (which paid well), and be someone new, not tethered to old expectations and tired customs. Jaskier had always sort of known that he’d do something like that. At least, if running away four times as a child had been any indication. The only difference now was that he knew how to cover his steps.

That said, it’d been a while since he’d had anything even resembling familiarity. Friendship. Cold professionalism, check. Outright hostility, check. He’d had amiable conversation and sometimes even affection offered to him, at times, when part of an infiltration, but that was never actually offered to _him_ —just to someone who looked like him, someone with a different name. 

He was thinking too deep about this. Of course he liked being friends with Rivia. He’d always liked making friends (and it helped that he and Rivia were hooking up on the side, too, but Jaskier had the wherewithal to keep that at least somewhat separate from work). 

* * *

And the job went tits-up. Of course it did. How else were they supposed to ruin their very good track record of two months without Rivia abandoning the plan?

The job went horribly wrong, as it was wont to do, but the problem was with Rivia—shot several times and probably bleeding out in the passenger seat of the car.

_Fuck_. Jaskier hated having to drive on missions. 

“How much time do you have left?” he asked, gritting his teeth and focusing on the road and very thoroughly definitely not panicking. He was a professional. Everything was going to be fine. It had to be. 

Rivia shifted, and Jaskier could see him wince in his peripherals. He held his balled-up suit jacket against the points of most contention. Some small part of Jaskier’s brain mourned the loss of a suit jacket that had done _so_ many favors for Rivia’s shoulders. “I’m losing consciousness. Not sure.”

Well, fuck. “Keep pressure on that.”

“I know,” Rivia said, and Jaskier shot him one more concerned look before focusing on the traffic.

He had a couple of options, here. None of them were good. Going back to headquarters would mean driving for at least another half an hour, barring traffic, and that was out of the question. A hospital? That would probably help, for the moment, but he didn’t think that he or Rivia technically existed in government databanks anymore, and they’d probably ask for I.D., and he didn’t know how he’d work his way out of that one without calling Yennefer and she _hated_ getting him out of those kinds of situations, she’d told him that herself, and fuck, why was he so focused on Yennefer when there was clearly a greater imperative sitting next to him and losing blood by the second—

His apartment. 

He couldn’t. _But he had to_. Maybe he could.

“Hold on,” he gritted out, and took a sharp left turn. 

Rivia’s shoulder hit the car door, and he made a small, pained noise. 

_This is why they don’t want us getting attached_ , he thought. This is why. _A couple of months ago I would’ve just left him, would’ve just taken my chances getting back to headquarters. And now I don’t like to see him in pain, and he knows my name and wants me to trust him and fuck, I think I do trust him. Damn it._

“Where are we going?” Rivia managed to ask, a few minutes later, voice sounding hazy and uncertain. 

Jaskier set his jaw and hoped to god that he wasn’t going to compromise his safe space. “Trust me.”

Jaskier’s apartment was no huge affair. It was a one bedroom space, with a nice open area and bulletproof windows that he always kept locked, on the second story, which gave him time to get out the window if someone were to break in from the first. He had a couple of plants (which usually died because sometimes he wasn’t home enough to water them and he wasn’t about to ask a neighbor to do it), and an old teddy bear from a date about a million years ago that he only kept because he’d had to abandon literally everything else. At least the bear, holding its little _hug me_ plush heart, gave his apartment the feeling that someone lived there. Against his better judgement, he always grabbed it when he had to run, usually stuffing it into his guitar case. He didn’t care about the boy anymore. It’d been years. That bear, though… it was a reminder, in truth, that he was a person. That he existed beyond cover stories and false names. 

It was also the most _embarrassing_ fucking thing that he owned, and of course it was the only thing that Rivia noticed when Jaskier dragged him into his apartment.

“Keep your head down,” Jaskier had whispered, hefting Rivia, slung over his back, again. There was another thing for Rivia to notice—how cool and hot it was for Jaskier to carry all that man up the stairs. Fuck knew it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, even for how often Jaskier worked out.

“So people don’t see my face, or so I don’t see your address?” Rivia muttered back. He still had just a hint of that smartass tone to his voice.

_Fuck_ , Jaskier thought, because he’d figured out their destination earlier than he’d expected and because of _course_ now was the time for Rivia to bring back the fucking _attitude_.

“Both,” Jaskier hissed, and followed it up with a, “Now keep your head down or I’m leaving you on the stairs to bleed out and die,” because he was stressed, and honestly, he felt like he deserved it. He wouldn’t actually do it. He was too deep in it now, with Rivia. Physically, because he was carrying him up the stairs and he wasn’t about to call the police into his apartment building with a dead body in the stairwell, and emotionally, because—well.

Rivia, by some small blessing, kept his head down until Jaskier managed to get the door to his apartment unlocked and dragged the both of them through. 

“Cute bear,” Rivia called, when Jaskier dumped him (as carefully as he could) in his tub to lock the door and get medical supplies. His voice sounded raspier than Jaskier remembered. Less energetic. More laborious. That was a bad sign. Jaskier told himself not to panic and ducked under the bathroom sink to get his emergency med supplies. “Someone win that at a carnival for you?”

“Would it kill you to shut up for once?” Jaskier shot back, slamming the cabinet door behind him a bit harder than he needed to. He opened the bag of supplies on the closed toilet. 

“Crisis training,” Rivia replied, closing his eyes and sliding back against the wall of the tub. “Gotta keep talking. Stay engaged. So I don’t go unconscious.”

Damn it. Once again, Rivia was right, even if by methods that irritated the fuck out of Jaskier. He found what he needed to get the bullets out of Rivia and glared. For therapeutic reasons. “That’s confidential, agent.”

Rivia’s shirt stuck to the skin, and while he was cutting it away, that small part of Jaskier’s brain returned to mourn the destruction of such a nice, well-fitted suit. He pushed the thought down and told Rivia, “Gonna get the bullets out now,” as he peeled away the now-red material.

Rivia made a small, muted noise of pain as the tweezer-pincer-plier things went in ( _fuck_ , Jaskier couldn’t remember the name of them, he hated not remembering words, he wasn’t panicking, definitely not). “We’re really in your apartment, then?” he choked out.

There was more than he let on, behind that question. Jaskier bringing him to his apartment… there was a lot someone could read into that. He’d probably have to move, after this. Because he wouldn’t chance taking Rivia to the hospital. More importantly, though, he’d brought Rivia into his living space, his safe space. There were implications that Jaskier did not want to face.

“Don’t ask me that,” Jaskier said, thanking whoever was up there in the sky that he was somewhat decent at multitasking and better at medical treatment than he was at driving under pressure. He felt the instrument hit the bullet, under the skin. Rivia hissed in a breath. 

Rivia made an audibly pained noise when Jaskier finally got a grip on the bullet and got it out. Gasping and sounding out of breath, he managed to say, “I’ll ask again later,” before Jaskier went for the next bullet.

The pained noises continued, louder now and softer later, and every one of them ripped through Jaskier’s heart. He was going to have to do some serious examinations later. Of their relationship. Of himself. Of when he’d developed feelings for probably the worst person to have feelings for, after a few too many makeout sessions in cars and unadvised hookups.

“So it wasn’t a self-buy, then? You didn’t get it on discount the week after Valentine’s day?” Geralt said, before Jaskier went for the last bullet. 

“What?” Jaskier paused for half a second, trying to process the question.

“The bear.”

Jaskier didn’t even try to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He was stressed. High-strung. He was doing something sort of high-stakes, at the moment, and Rivia, of all people, refused to take it seriously. “Of course, the fucking bear. No. Why would I do that?”

“Bought lots of things for Yen, week after Valentine’s. Sales.”

Jaskier shook his head and went in for the last pass with the (forceps? Was that the word? Fuck, he really hoped it was the word). “Fucking weird that you two used to date.”

Rivia made a slurred sound that Jaskier just managed to decipher as, “It was good. While it lasted.” A pause followed, and then, “Why? You jealous?”

Jaskier laughed a little louder than he needed to. “Me? Jealous? The blood loss is getting to you, isn’t it, Rivia?” He dug after the last bullet with a little more force than was probably strictly necessary and tried very hard not to feel bad about it. “Besides, last time I checked, I’m the one making out with you after missions, not her.”

“Hm.” Rivia groaned in pain, something between an ‘agh’ and an ‘ngh’. “I’d be jealous,” he gasped out, breathlessly, “if it was you.”

Jaskier did _not_ know how to deal with that right then. “If it _were_ me,” he said, instead of acknowledging _any_ of the important parts of that declaration and tried to tell himself that at least his english degree wasn’t going to waste. He got the last bullet out and breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped it in the sink. Not that the whole ordeal was anywhere close to over yet.

Rivia had too many clothes on, which was usually a problem of a different sort. Now, Jaskier’s brain ran a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to get bandages around him. “Let’s hope it didn’t hit anything important,” he muttered, and started pressing gauze onto the bullet holes. Rivia, for his part, put helpful pressure on the gauze squares once Jaskier put them down.

Now that the bullets were out of his body, Rivia seemed markedly more compliant, for whatever reason. He responded easily when Jaskier pressed against his shoulder and said, “You’re gonna have to sit up, now.” Not with a snarky remark, either. With easy movement, despite the groan of pain.

Jaskier cut away the rest of the dress shirt as quickly as he could. He didn’t know what compelled him to do it, but as he started to wrap the bandages around Rivia’s torso, he muttered, “Good. You’re doing good.”

Rivia made a small noise, after that, and it wasn’t pained. Jaskier didn’t know what to make of that.


	2. the same for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jaskier gets sentimental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody fucking talk to me about my choice in chapter titles. we're here for content not for titles, it's late and i don't have the capacity to go looking for a good song lyric

With Rivia stitched and bandaged and theoretically fine, Jaskier let out a breath and slumped back against the bathtub. 

He was stressed. That wasn’t promising. Hadn’t he been trained to keep a cool head, to function well in emergencies exactly like this one? For him to be so pressed over a boy, like this… well, he would like to say that it was unusual, but Jaskier knew the feeling of catching feelings all too well.

And Rivia—he’d said he’d be  _ jealous _ , if it was Jaskier in a relationship with someone else. What the  _ fuck _ ? That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be quick hookups, something gratuitous and unimportant and also  _ unimportant _ , because if Rivia meant this much to him, he couldn’t keep doing jobs with him, not if things kept turning out like this, which meant that Jaskier would have to ask for a new partner, but he didn’t  _ want _ to leave Rivia, and he certainly didn’t want to go to Yennefer and tell her that he’d developed  _ feelings _ for her ex-boyfriend or  _ whatever _ the fuck they were, and—

“Fuck,” he said, sliding down further and dropping his head back onto the rim of the tub.

“Don’t pass out, please,” Rivia’s voice came from behind him, tinny as it echoed off the bathtub. He didn’t sound particularly worried. In fact, it was more passive than Jaskier had heard it in a while.  _ Was that something to be worried about? Should Rivia be more sarcastic? Had he lost too much blood to banter? _

“I’m not gonna  _ pass out _ ,” Jaskier replied, perhaps with a little more vitriol than strictly necessary. He did close his eyes, though, and threw an arm over them. Maybe things would be easier without sight. 

“Okay.”

Jaskier firmly pushed down all the worried thoughts that surfaced after that lackluster response. God, he couldn’t just keep sitting here. He had to get up. Had to do something. He groaned, and pushed himself up off the bathroom floor, heading for the door.

“Where’re you going?” Rivia asked, and Jaskier glanced over to see him braced against the tub, as if he were going to try and sit up.

Several comforting, compassionate responses raced through Jaskier’s head, and he went the exact opposite direction in his panic. “Now’s not the time to be clingy, Rivia,” he snapped, and turned on his heel.

He turned on the lights, in the hall, and without Rivia in his line of sight, things felt a little clearer. He pressed his eyes closed again, standing still in the hallway, and called, “I’m getting some pain meds.”

It was in the kitchen that it really set in. Rivia was here, in his home—well, in his house. Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d really had a home since… maybe since he was living with Essi Daven, in college. 

Either way, it was like a glass of cold water to the face, realizing that Rivia was here, in his space. The one place that was always dependably Rivia-free. 

He took a breath. More important things. He grabbed a bottle of pain pills from his medicine cupboard and filled a glass with water from the sink before heading back to Rivia. 

“My guardian angel,” Rivia said, when Jaskier handed him the pain meds and the water, and Jaskier turned away.

When he heard the clink of the glass on the rim of the tub, he turned to pick it up and put it on the sink. “Alright. We need to move you.”

Rivia made a sound of complaint, and Jaskier tried his very hardest not to snap at him. “We don’t  _ have _ to, Jaskier.”

“You’re not spending the night in the bathtub, dumbass.” Jaskier did his best to get his arms under Rivia’s in some way that wouldn’t agitate the bullet wounds, but it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. “Would you help? I need to rinse the blood out before it stains.”

Rivia laughed hoarsely, the fucker. “Yeah, sure. Let me just get up and start walking.”

“Now’s not the time to jumpstart your career in comedy, Rivia,” Jaskier grumbled. “I’m not asking you to walk on water here, just fucking  _ cooperate _ until I can get you to the couch.”

Rivia didn’t acknowledge his career verbally, but there was some shifting and Rivia’s hand on his shoulder and Rivia was standing—at least, upright enough that Jaskier could get one of his arms around his shoulders and help him over the rim of the tub. “You’re not worried about the couch?” he asked, somewhat blearily, and Jaskier hoped to fuck that the pain meds were kicking in so that Rivia would mellow out for five fucking seconds.

Jaskier grit his teeth and directed the four-legged person that they’d become out of the bathroom and back into the living room. “At this point, it doesn’t matter. Probably not gonna be living here much longer.”

He didn’t look over, but he could feel Rivia’s stare on him. Man watched things like a hawk—unblinking, intent. It was absolutely creepy, sometimes, with his big golden eyes, and Jaskier certainly wasn’t a fan of it right now. Not because it creeped him out; at least, not in that way.

Again, they’d hit on the crux of their situation. Jaskier had let Rivia into his home, compromising his living situation for the sake of Rivia’s wellbeing. Rivia wasn’t watching his expression just for shits and giggles, so Jaskier did his best to keep his expression schooled. 

Rivia dropped onto the couch so hard that Jaskier nearly had a heart attack, worrying that he’d be hurt, considering all the bullet holes in him. Rivia let out a pained groan and laid back slowly, but he didn’t seem injured otherwise. 

Jaskier stood over him for a moment, ensuring nothing was wrong, and then sighed. He’d have to call Yennefer, now. Tell her what’d happened. 

“The tub, but not the couch?” Rivia said, and it definitely sounded like the pain meds had started to kick in. 

“What?”

“You’re worried about blood in the tub, but not the couch.”

Jaskier thought that it might have been embarrassing to go red at that moment, but it was dark and his hands (and probably some of his face, at this point) were covered with enough blood to make any blush unremarkable. “Shut up, Rivia,” he said, but it lacked the fervor of earlier. He was tired. He wanted to clean up his goddamn house. And he had to call Yennefer. “Get some sleep. I’ll get this figured out.” With that, he turned away.

Usually, this late, everything was silent. It was nearly the same, now, but Rivia’s labored breathing in the other room was an obvious and unwelcome intruder in Jaskier’s quiet little apartment. Jaskier turned on the showerhead to rinse the blood off the tub and his own hands, and the noise was a welcome distraction. He gave his first aid tools a cursory rinse, as well. After a moment’s consideration, he turned the showerhead on his own face. The cold water was a shock, but it was good. It was good. He needed something to keep him grounded. He turned off the water and wiped what he could off of his sopping face. 

Shreds of Rivia’s dress shirt and his blood-soaked jacket laid on the bathroom tile, and Jaskier sighed before going to get a trash bag. He didn’t really like clean-up, but it was… therapeutic, almost, right then. He shoved the jacket and the ruined dress shirt into the bag, and then registered the blood stains on the cuffs of his own shirt. He took that off and stuffed it in the bag, too. There were stains on the back and sides from carrying Rivia around that he hadn’t seen.

Fuck, he would’ve really liked to take a shower, but there were more pressing matters, and he didn’t really want to out of reach, should Rivia fucking… fall off the couch, or some dumb shit like that. 

Somewhere in his brain, he knew that he was trying to push down his worry by being angry, but he pushed that thought down too.

With everything cleaned in the bathroom, Jaskier headed for his bedroom. Rivia looked asleep on the couch, thank god. He called Yennefer.

-

“You did  _ what _ ?”

Jaskier sighed. “Believe me, I’m not happy about it either.”

“I hope you don’t think it’s easy, finding homes for people like you. Damn it. Did anyone follow you?”

“If they did, they’d have been here by now. No promises for trackers.”

“Can’t be too careful. How’s Rivia’s condition?”

“Passed out. Fucking finally.”

Yennefer’s sigh founded tinny over the phone. “As long as he’s alive, I suppose. Keep him that way, if you would, Agent. Someone’ll be there soon.”

Jaskier bit his lip, glancing around his bedroom. It was small, but… well, he’d been here longer than most places. He liked this place. “It… can wait until morning.”

Fuck, now wasn’t the time to get sentimental. It wasn’t. But… fuck. 

“Agent,” Yennefer said, voice low. “Watch yourself. Rivia has nice eyes. Believe me, I know. But if you do another thing like this… I’m going to have to consider you compromised.”

Fuck. Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah. Understood.”

“Is he stable?”

“No bullets through anywhere vital. Everything stitched.”

“Someone’ll be there in an hour. Two hours, tops. I’m leaving you time to pack. Agent…” Yennefer’s voice stopped, for a moment, and she sighed. “You’re smart. Keep it that way, please.” With that, she hung up.

Jaskier stared at his phone’s screen, for a while, before he finally slumped against his bedroom door and slid down to the floor. He let his head fall to the side against the door frame. Wonderful.

He glanced around the room, for a moment. Anything he wanted to keep was in here. His guitar. A few good books. They weren’t his original copies of  _ The Legends of King Arthur and his Knights _ and  _ Pride and Prejudice _ and  _ Paradise Lost _ —no, those had been lost long ago, while running from his parents and assailants and himself—but he’d prefer to keep the ones he could, instead of having to buy new ones again. 

With a sigh, he pulled himself up off the floor and set to packing. He couldn’t take the houseplants. They’d have to wither and die, poor things, but it wasn’t as if he had neighbors he could ask to water them. Into the backpack went the books, a couple of other novels (one he was reading, the other one he’d meant to read at some point), and a phone charger because fuck if he was going to live life in transit without internet access. His emergency backpack already had everything else, food, clothes, water, so he put on his favorite sweater of the moment so he wouldn’t have to carry it and set the backpack down next to his guitar case. 

The last thing he needed… he was almost anxious to get it, to put it in the backpack safely, but going to get his little stuffed bear meant going past Rivia again.

Whatever. He was a grown man. He wasn’t scared of Rivia, especially not when he was drugged up and knocked out.

Rivia still looked like he was sleeping, when Jaskier emerged into the living room. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed a blanket from the top of the couch and laid it over him. Rivia didn’t have a shirt, after all, only bandages, and Jaskier… cared about him. It’d be useless to deny it, at that point. Jaskier allowed himself an indulgent moment to watch Rivia’s sleeping face, to hope that he’d be okay, before he turned to grab his bear from the mantlepiece. 

He held it, for a few moments, looking into its button eyes. The shiny black things were scratched. The bear had had a rough life, after all. 

“We’re in it together,” Jaskier muttered to it, and pressed it to his chest for a moment before turning to go put it in his backpack.

“It’s special, huh.”

And fuck if it wasn’t Rivia, piping up from the couch. Jaskier could’ve cried from frustration. He felt so tired all of a sudden. 

“Where’d you get it?”

Rivia didn’t sound entirely lucid, and Jaskier was tired of keeping up the aggression. He flopped down in front of the couch and leaned back up against it, holding the bear up in front of him. “It was a present,” he said, after a moment. “A boy won it for me. Carnival date,” he added, tilting his head slightly toward where Rivia’s head was. He couldn’t see Rivia, but if the man was still conscious, he was sure he was listening.

“You’re  _ gay _ ?” Rivia asked, and it took Jaskier a moment to register the joke, considering Rivia was on pain meds and theoretically not totally aware of what he was saying.

“You’re such a  _ dick _ ,” he said, laughing because he was tired and stressed and kind of wanted to cry, and because Rivia’s labored laughter behind him, undeserved as it was, was the nicest thing he’d heard all day.

“A carnival date, huh?” Rivia asked, and even though Jaskier knew that it was an awful fucking breach of protocol to tell him about his past, they were already this far.

It was easier to speak, then, in the dark, than it might’ve been anywhere else. Anytime else. “It was picturesque, honestly,” Jaskier said, looking into the dark eyes of the teddy bear. “All flashing lights and greasy foods. We shared a funnel cake. He won this playing darts.”

“You liked him?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Why do you keep it, then?”

“The bear?” Jaskier considered it for a moment, brows pressing together. “It’s kind of like a friend, now.” He cleared his throat, trying to keep from choking up. He’d been too sentimental lately. He’d have to do something about it. “It’s all I really… have.”

Rivia didn’t respond verbally, but he made an understanding sound.

In the dark, with his bear, Jaskier felt a little bit stronger. He turned, shifting to brace his shoulder against the couch so he could face Rivia. “What did you mean, earlier? When you said you’d be jealous.”

Rivia’s outline was fuzzy, in the dark, but his golden eyes reflected the moonlight from the windows. He shrugged. “Meant what I said.”

“And when you said—said you wanted me to trust you?”

Rivia’s eyes slid closed. “I don’t lie to you, Jaskier.”

In the dark, with his bear, Jaskier felt a little bit braver. He shifted, again, to kneel over Rivia, and reached out a hand to place on his cheek.

They’d kissed before. They’d done far worse than that, actually. But—Jaskier was feeling sentimental, and all he really wanted was something soft. And meaningful.

Rivia didn’t have a chance to open his eyes before Jaskier kissed him, soft and chaste, and went off to his bedroom.

With his bear safely stowed in his backpack, Jaskier towed the pack and his guitar into the living room. Rivia’s golden eyes were there to greet him when he did.

“You have to leave.” The observation was quiet.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, slumping down onto the ground next to his meager belongings.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jaskier let out a breath. “Was my choice. You wanted me to trust you—well, I did you one better.”

“Thanks.”

“For what, not letting you die?”

“Yeah.”

Jaskier let out an incredulous noise. “Don’t worry, Rivia. It was my pleasure.”

“I’d do the same for you.” Rivia’s words were just a little slurred, but when Jaskier looked up, his eyes were bright and piercing.

Jaskier could only smile, small and slight.

“You shouldn’t be on the floor. You can come up on the couch.”

Jaskier could only laugh. “I’m not gonna cuddle with you while you’re full of bullet holes, dumbass.”

  
He was compromised. Absolutely. But Jaskier’s whole career was built on secrets. There had to be  _ one _ that he could keep from Yennefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha i hope this was somewhat decent! we are Not into editing in this house. we write and post no looking back
> 
> i've got other witcher fics, if you wanna check em out. otherwise, have a really good day, or have sweet dreams if you're reading this late
> 
> leave a comment and a kudos if you can, please <3 the serotonin hit is always appreciated

**Author's Note:**

> impulse writing for this universe and mildly disliking it is becoming a theme haha
> 
> second part coming (hopefully) soon! might be a third part depending on if i have the willpower to write more and not immediately post it whoops
> 
> please leave me some of that sweet sweet validation if you liked it! i'm craving serotonin so if you've got positive feedback please drop it below with a kudos and/or a comment thank you very much i love you


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